May the Road Rise Up to Meet You: A Novel (40 page)

And his voice trails off like you’ve never heard from Harry before, the toughest one of all of you from good old Red Hook, now made fragile by the torment of memory.

Just go
home
, Ethan—an’ don’t come back here to get yerself shot at, you goddamn cripple … you don’t belong here, pretendin’ like yer still a soldier …

And even though you know he’s only saying such things to convince you to leave, they still hurt coming from him. You lean down and put your hand on his unscathed shoulder, and he nods at you, then turns away. And you go without another word or gesture, hoping this will not be the
last
time you see him.

For a time you thought that this was where you belonged, with the lads still, fighting for the cause in whatever way you could. But it was clear that none of the lads who were actually doing the fighting cared a damn about the cause, not Union, not victory, for
damn
sure not emancipation, not now, not after all this. This war has become about simple
put your head down and forge back into the breach
attrition, with the generals’ stupidity providing an endless source of fresh corpses and shattered lives. And you’re glad your camera and half the glass-plate negatives you carried with you are left smashed along the slope on the other side of the river. You’ll play no part in promoting the notion of a
Glorious Charge
, played out in the headlines of the
Daily Eagle
. And as for any runaways clinging to the Army of the Potomac—well, they must’ve got word that it’s not exactly a reliable team to hitch their wagons to, since there haven’t been any of them to stick around long enough for you to take their picture.

Just outside the building there’s a little bench of decorative ironwork, and you flop your beleaguered body down on it, stretching out your bad leg and rubbing it as far as the knee, trying to ease the pain a little. It’s a fantastic sight out in front of you and for miles into the distance, with campfires on each side of the lines flickering like tiny
stars fallen to earth and the brighter glow from houses forming constellations amidst the spectral display. You tip your head back, knocking it harder than expected on the iron bench, and close your eyes until the pain becomes dull. Then opening them, you see the flashes across the canopy of a star-filled sky, little streaks of white at first, then growing bolder and wider and colored pink and orange and yellow. And the words somehow come to you like a treasure stored away that’s been waiting to breathe the open air … 
Na Fir Chlis
 … you whisper in the Old Irish … The Dancing Lady.

You close your eyes again and rub your head at the point of impact, then slowly open them once again—and there she is! No counterfeit, this sight, just the brilliance of a memory brought back to life, and you can almost feel yourself along the Lane back home, back before The Hunger, with Seanny and Da still there, with Mam wrapped in her coat and draping the edges of it over your shoulders that reach only just above her waist—and Aislinn, there beside you—dancing right along with The Dancing Lady in the sky—and it’s the sort of clean you thought would never again be possible, something pure as a stream back home … before it all—

Huhhhhh! you’re interupted by the gasp from behind you, jolting your head back upright and gathering yourself before you turn to see the silhouette in the backlight of the doorway, a nurse’s bonnet atop her head and a shawl draped over her shoulders and her turning her gaze from the sky to you.

Oh sorry, she says, I didn’t mean to star— … 
Ethan?

And she gasps again.

It’s only when she steps a few feet out of the doorway, and the lights from above illuminate her face, that you see the familiar features you’d spent most of the night before reconstructing in your mind—and you smile without being aware of any waking sensation.

And there is not a word between you for the time it takes you to stand up and walk half the way to her, wrapping her inside your embrace and feeling the electric charge of that dream fulfilled, then easing her away from you far enough to look into her deepest brown eyes reflecting the dancing light as they look up at you—and you kiss her now with the breathless gratitude of being given the chance again. A minute passes,
maybe more, your embrace a fit of Newtonian symmetry it seems, and for that moment all the scarred earth around feels washed as clean as the childhood memory of
Na Fir Chlis—
in all her eternal splendor—until you see the blood smeared across the arms and apron of her uniform, then slip back far enough away to see the fatigue pulling at her face, and the eyes that you know have now seen too much to ever forget—to ever be as confident as only a person who has never known the horrors can be. And seeing what has been lost, you somehow become angry with her in much the way Harry was with you just minutes before.

What are you
doing
here? you ask. Why are you … is it … because of
me
?

The words are no sooner out of your mouth than you hear the arrogance in them, and the fatigue is gone from her saddened eyes as the fire returns.

I was a nurse long before I ever knew you! she says, pushing away from what’s left of your embrace. How dare you think that I would follow you around like some smitten little girl! I’m doing a damn sight more than you—writing stupid letters to announce you’re going off to take more pictures! Like that’s doing any good! I’m helping to save lives!

And she punches at your chest with the fleshy edge of her hand, then turns and begins to walk back to the doorway. But you find the agility to make two quick steps without a limp, enough to take hold of her hand and pull it gently toward you, slowing her progress for the time needed to walk around back in front of her.

I’m sorry … I … I didn’t … I’m sorry.

Ethan, I have just thirty minutes to breathe something other than a room filled with chloroform … I just want to sit and close my eyes …

And you regain your senses enough to lead her over to the bench while she continues to speak.

 … I haven’t slept since yesterday. I think—I don’t know for sure …

You take your coat off and drape it across her lap, then sit beside her.

 … it’s been
terrible
Ethan—one amputation after another …

And as she softens into your embrace, laying her head on your shoulder, you whisper, I know … I know … but enough of that for now … let’s watch The Dancing Lady.

The what? she asks.

And you take just one finger and place it beneath her chin, gently lifting her head up enough to look at the heavenly display once again.

Over here they call them the Northern Lights, but back in th’Old Country, they’re
Na Fir Chlis—The
Dancing Lady.

I like that better, she says.

Me too. And the first time I can remember seein’ them was back on the Lane, with all of us there—

How old were you?

Couldn’t have been more than six or seven.

Just a
wee
lad, she says with as much of a brogue as she can muster, and the smile warm on her face once again.

That’s right, you say. And there we all were, Aislinn dancin’ right along with the Lady in the sky, and Da tellin’ us about what the folks long ago used t’say about such things …

And the whisper of your voice is answered with the melody of her soft breaths against the corner of your chest, as you tell her all you can remember of that far-off evening, understanding, with a certainty you’ve never known before … that
she
is your only cause now.

Jeremiah’s about the last person in the world Micah wants to spend most of a day with. But here he is riding right alongside him. Complaining he should be the one to hold Soldier’s reins. Jeremiah’s good with horses, but even better at complaining.

It’s almost an hour riding in from the Barnes place west of the city. With Jeremiah running off at the mouth the whole time. Talking about how the Massa sent
him
to go and see about the filly Mr. Barnes wanted to sell. He’d complained for most of the ride to the Barnes stable, and now for most of the ride home. Talking about how that means the Massa respects his opinion when it comes to
hawses
. And his backward logic makes him somehow think that it means he should be the one holding the reins now. Driving this cart, that Micah takes every day. Driving Soldier, who goes with him every day, too. But Micah wasn’t having any of that right from the start. This was the last day of two weeks working at the Barnes place. And Jeremiah was just along for the ride. Left to complain from the passenger side of things. Until.

You a nigga jus’ like us. Donchu go fo’gettin that
. Jeremiah says.

And Micah turns to him, stares at him with a scowl in his eyes. That maybe makes Jeremiah think twice ’bout his latest complaint. But
Mmm-hmm
. Is all Micah says, for maybe the twentieth time that day. Which makes Jeremiah even madder.

They’d gone round and round before, back when Massa Longley first bought Micah a year and a half ago. Jeremiah wasn’t the biggest buck in the slave quarters. Just the most favored one, it seemed. Only one with his own little kingdom, right there in the stables. And a cabin all to himself, even if it did smell like manure all the time. Then came Micah. Massa’s new prize, who got his own cabin too, back all the way at the end of the quarters. Far away from the stables. ’Cause Micah was gonna be the first carpenter Massa had to go and make all this lumber they been producin’ and sellin’ into actual things. Like hay lofts and chicken coops, they figured. Which was bad enough. Turned out it was porches and bookshelves and storage rooms and a nursery even. Making him more of a prize than anyone thought.

Most of the other slaves on the place let Micah keep to himself. Which was fine by him. But not Jeremiah, ’cause he’d always figured
he
was Massa Longley’s biggest prize. So he never missed a chance to poke fun at Micah. And Micah just took it, not caring one way or the other. Still in his days of bein’ just a mule, he figured. ’Til Jeremiah went a little too far one day. Started talking about how Micah come from nowhere and musta been a half-breed whose Momma got did by the overseer. Then it took three men to pull Micah off Jeremiah. And no one messed with him after that.

It’s downright ’barrissin ridin’ through town like dis, me th’Massa’s liv’ry slave an’ you drivin’ this here cart
. Jeremiah says, complaining. But not scolding, to be sure.

And then again,
Mmm-hmm
. Micah says.

Then Micah taps the reins on Soldier just to show who’s doing the driving right now. Jeremiah keeps on and on, dancing up to that line he knows better than to ever cross again. But Micah’s mostly turned his thoughts to other things. When he guides Soldier left instead of right on Marshall Street, Jeremiah starts laughing. Going on and on about how Micah made a wrong turn and now he’s lost, and how he ain’t gonna show him the way to go now.
Uppity niggas always thinkin’ they knows it all
. Jeremiah says. And folds his arms in front of him for show, but only after he checks to see that Micah’s still wearing that silly grin he’s had on most of the ride home.

They pass the Kittredges’ store, and Micah pulls Soldier in. Slows
the cart to a halt, then hands the reins to Jeremiah.
Ohhh nooo, dis yo’ mess! You gettin’ outta dis here by yo’sef!
Jeremiah says, but takes the reins all the same. Then Micah says something about having to check on a job he did not long ago. Hops down from the cart and takes off walking up the street past the Kittredges’ stores.
Whachu … whey you think you goin’?
Jeremiah calls after him. But there is no response.

Micah doubles back, spotting Mary now, waiting ’til she sees him too. Then walks back past Jeremiah, who’s still complaining, and turns down the alley one store past the dress shop. It’s a few minutes of waiting, and he pretends to examine the drain spout and his work on the outside wall of the new storage room.

I thought you’d be stoppin’ by
. She says, stepping outside the back of the shop, straight to the scrap bin. Opening it, pretending to sort through it, just like he’s pretending to inspect the drain spout. Staring at each other, though. The two of them. Smiling.

I just hadta … Mary … I just hadta
 … He says, staring right at her. Deep into her eyes, letting her melt a little, then turning his gaze to the wall … 
I just hadta see if this drain spout’s gonna be ready for th’winter time. You know, you cain’t be careful enough ’bout these things …

And her laughter is a symphony.

Oh, is that so?
She says. Smiling. Trying best as she can to look like she ain’t sweet on him. Failing.
Then I guess I’ll just be goin’ on back inside
.

Now don’t you go nowhere without my kiss first
. He says. And takes his hands off the wall. They both look all around, then close the space between them. And she leans up onto her toes as he pulls her to him. Another of their stolen kisses, secret, like all the moments they’ve ever had together. Her lips dissolving onto his ’til the hint of her cheek against his face is like touching one of those silk dresses she makes. And after a few seconds they break off, look all around again. Look back at each other. And it’s quiet for a while.